


Jaskier (the bard named after a flower)

by here_for_jaskier



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit hurt Jaskier, Buttercups, First Kiss, Flowers, Geraskier, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, the story behind his name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/here_for_jaskier/pseuds/here_for_jaskier
Summary: Jaskier means buttercup and Geralts asks why
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	Jaskier (the bard named after a flower)

**Author's Note:**

> my english is still not the best and this fan canon happend a multiple times but I want to write it down anyway.

Jaskier means buttercup. Familiar was the small, stubborn plant found along roadsides and in meadows. As if dressed up, it shone in a bright yellow between the pale daisies or the puny grasses. Before the young bard, who followed him out of a tavern to the end of the world and had just that name, Geralt had not paid any attention to them.

It had taken Geralt some time to ask himself for the first time why his companion had chosen this name as his own. He had plucked off a single stalk because it had grown together with the wolf's bane. Wide-open was the chalice, gracefully formed from yellow curved leaves that shimmered in the sun while Geralt turned them in his hands. As the flower slipped from his fingers, slowly sailing to the ground, the question also disappeared from his mind again.

Not until on a night that stretched over their heads like a black cloth decorated with thousands and thousands of pearls that the witcher had managed to bring the question over his lips. For a split second, Jaskier's facial expression slipped away, but a blink of an eye later he smiled. A sad smile that resembled more a grimace and did not reach his cornflower-blue eyes.

"People remember it better," he had simply claimed, "Short and memorable. No one appreciates musicians with a long name."  
They were loose words. Anyone would have been satisfied with that answer. The short twitch in Jaskier's hands, the way his fingers restlessly ran over the wide ring on his left hand, Geralt revealed that there was more behind it.

"But why Jaskier?", he checked once more, felt the heavy heartbeat next to him under the starry sky, intoxicated and full of uncertainty. The witcher did not receive an answer. Instead, Jaskier only reached for the opened bottle of wine, the sweet and sour taste which was still on their tongues and which wrapped their senses in cotton wool.

"More wine, Geralt?"

**\---**

Geralt often thought back to that evening. Mostly of her conversation before that, of the jokes, of the smile Jaskier had given him and which covered him in daylight even in the darkest hours of the night. Only after his question did it fade away, as if dark clouds had slid in front of the sparkle in his iris. He had not succeeded in pushing these shadows aside that night. Only the next morning, when the sun climbed up the horizon sleepily, did Jaskier blink between his long brown lashes.

Their breakfast had consisted of leftovers from dinner and blueberries, whose sweet juice had welcomed the beautiful day as much as the birds' emerging chirping. As if he had dreamed of the strangely tense mood at night, Jaskier was awake and alert. Lively and loud as always, despite the alcohol.  
Geralt couldn't remember every detail, but he knew he didn't want to see Jaskier's sad face again, the way his shoulders bent under the load like the leaves of a flower threatening to break under the weight.

But there were things that Geralt could not prevent. Every flower faded at some point. Slowly time robbed them of the color of their blooms, let them wither and eventually the wind would carry them away into nothingness. Forgotten and that after only too short a time. Jaskier would not fare any differently. During their time together Geralt had realized that the human body seemed fragile like glass. A simple cold, a wrong step, a wound could make him splinter and the shards would bore deep into Geralt's heart. Into his much too soft heart, which lay in Jaskiers fragile and mortal hands. Desperation devoured him over the weeks, the closer Jaskier came to him.

Until he knew no other way. That day on the mountain, far from civilization, between rocks and softly whispering grass, Jaskier had looked again like the flower whose name he carried. Like a flower that had been stepped on too often, suffered too much, and which at some point looked like the muddy ground with torn blooms and leafs. Every color had disappeared from Jaskier's face when Geralt's words hit him like kicks. The glow in his eyes went out, while tears rose in them. With a feeling as if a rope had been pulled around his chest, Geralt remembered the sound of Jaskier's last words, which he whispered muffled before turning away. Even his favorite instrument had been stolen from him by the witcher.

In return, Jaskier took Geralt's heart with him that day. If he had believed that he would not have to bear the pain if the bard disappeared from his life, Geralt had been mistaken. He felt empty and burnt out. Like a lump of coal whose energy had evaporated, the cold took over. He was incomplete, where he walked and stood. His thoughts hung on the bard, with the name of a flower, while Geralt did his daily duty without anyone waiting for him after the hunt or sharing his bed. Jaskier's scent, a mixture of pinewood and honey and something very own that belonged to him completely, evaporated from his things and his mind, was blown away, no matter how hard the witcher tried to keep him safe.  
With every morning Geralt woke up alone and realized that it would go on like this for the rest of his days, he wanted to scream but he couldn't make a sound because he thought he was drowning in the cold of the loneliness that lay like dust on everything.

Until that day when their paths crossed again.Unspectacular, unexpected as if the cunning fate of Geralt wanted to play a trick that evening.Like the breeze on a warm summer day, the familiar voice welcomed him as he pushed open the door to the tavern and saw Jaskier.

He laughed, he sang. He didn't appreciate Geralt's agonizing hours not one look, while the blue eyes flashed across the room and followed the clapping and dancing of the crowd. Only his pulse told the witcher that his presence had not gone unnoticed. Meanwhile, his gaze rested on Jaskier, greedily grasping every detail as if the bard could vanish into thin air at any moment and disappear forever.At the same time, the shame was boiling in Geralt. For all the angry words resting on his chest and squeezing the air out of him like an ugly animal. Guilt weighed on him and the question if Jaskier wasn't better off without him, had more joy in a real-life without mutants, gnawed at his entrails.

But more burning was the desire under his skin. The longing for the bard, for his petty touches that brought butterflies to life in his stomach area. The desire to kiss him spread the wings in his heart suppressed everything and filled him with ease. There was nothing he wished for more than to run his tingling fingertips through his dark brown soft hair, to look into the blue eyes that were more intense than Geralt remembered and reminded him more than ever of fallen pieces of the sky.

He want Jaskier, at his side, as long as fate gave them and if he had to let him go, he wanted to hold his hand until that moment, knowing that never again would a flower attract his gaze like Jaskier.

All this was stronger than Geralt's cowardice. So his shaky legs followed the younger one, who had finished his performance and was heading for the back exit until suddenly they were facing each other.The blue doublet's fabric glittered in the dancing candlelight as Jaskier raised his head and tensed his shoulders as if preparing for a thunderous storm that was about to hit him at any moment.

"Jaskier..-", Geralt began, in a rough voice."What is it, Geralt?", Jaskier replied violently and crossed his arms in front of his chest. With this, he could not hide the trembling of his fingers."I..-", Geralt produced, indecisive as he could pronounce what he felt. How sorry he was could hardly be put into words, just as he felt.Ashamed, he lowered his head, fixed the worn-out floorboards on which various footprints were visible.

"Do you know why Jaskier suits me so well?", the bard asked out of nowhere. Abruptly Geralt looked up and when their eyes met, the fire cast soft shadows on the younger one's face. His eyes spoke of pain and shimmered moistly as he continued.

"Buttercups are useless," he said, almost spitting out the words, "You can tear them out as often as you want, but they always grow back where you don't need them."

The first tear made its way across his cheek, mysteriously reflecting the light before Jaskier wiped them away in anger."My parents were right, weren't they? It fits," he said bitterly, turning to leave. Without hesitation, Geralt grabbed his arm, held him tight.

Startled, Jaskier looked at him. More tears rolled, hanging on his lashes as he looked down, unable to look into the eyes that reminded him of splinters of amber."That's not true", Geralt croaked. His heart was beating up to his neck, "I need you."Doubt and shock were visible on Jaskier's face. He bit his lips for a moment when Geralt's hand was already in his neck.

Goosebumps trickled over his skin as he ran his fingers carefully through his unruly hair.  
"Buttercups still glow at dusk", Geralt whispered, "They are poisonous and are therefore rarely eaten", he continued, with every word they came closer to each other.

"They do not displace, they do not grow over, they protect when they are close to other plants."With his thumb, Geralt wiped away the last tear, as timidly as if Jaskier could break under the touch.

"They can be found even in the darker swamps", Geralt said, while they stood there leaning forehead to forehead. Jaskier trembled all over his body, his fingers clawing into Geralt's shirt. He became dizzy from the proximity and the scent that enveloped him. He breathed in deeply.

"They give light and hope," he whispered. Warm, hectic breath brushed against his throat. For a second he sank into Jaskier's eyes of the deep shimmering blue that made him forget everything.

"And they are beautiful."With these words he bent over, his hand still on the bard's cheek, sealing her lips in a kiss.He tasted salty tears and hot embers, the surprise and all the colours of this world and every fibre in his body trembled. Carefully they breathed through his nose before Jaskier pulls him closer.His lips curled into a smile, the first in a long time, as a warmth spread through him as if someone had dipped him in hot water.

He only dared to breathe as they parted tentatively, hearts pounding, drunk with happiness. When Jaskier smiled at him, embarrassed and with a twinkle in his eyes, Geralt knew that spring had returned to his life. But what did he care about the other flowers?

He had found his. His only and favorite one.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hoped you liked that small piece of work <3


End file.
